It's Tradition
by strandedthought
Summary: The Armstrong family followed traditions, right down to the strangest of them all. For Olivier, that meant avoiding one thing during their annual holiday party--mistletoe.


I don't own FMA

Post manga verse

**'-.-'-.-'**

Somehow, her first objective of the night had already been a failure. She'd say her sisters had all been waiting to charge into the room once her sword was tucked in to the sheath hung around her bedpost, but they weren't organized enough for that. It had been pure luck that they caught her while she was changing for the night, with the sword across the room.

Being the intelligent soldier she was, she didn't let them know that they'd won. She surrendered to their request to put on the vile, red dress, and readied for the Armstrong holiday party with her chin held high.

The moment she started to descend the stairwell into the throng of guests, her objective changed. During the obligatory round of greetings, she let her gaze flutter to the ceiling to locate each and every sprig of mistletoe in the rooms being used for the night. She learned long ago, not to be caught unaware under that foliage.

Her eyes narrowed as she spotted Roy Mustang across the room with his lackeys. She didn't know why any of them followed the weak man- they had more potential then he allowed for them to use. Just that alone was enough to cause her dislike of him, but it was the combination of him and mistletoe that really infuriated her.

With a flicker of her eyes to rafters above the center of the circle he stood in, her elegant stride turned to a determined one, and her polite smile widened to a cruel one.

The smile didn't change a bit as she clapped him on the back with all her might. "Seems your leg isn't quite healed," she concluded when he staggered into the circle, and one of his subordinates rushed to steady him.

"I told him to bring the cane," Riza grumbled as she started to step forward to take over for the spectacled fellow Olivier only knew as the communications genius.

Olivier nearly growled as she threw her arm in front of the sniper to stop her. When the woman gave her a threatening look, she only cleared her throat and pointed to the rafters. A giggle, no, maniac laughter, nearly escaped from her throat as everyone in the circle craned their necks to see the mistletoe she pointed at.

Color drained from the faces of both men as they sprang apart with the agility of real soldiers.

"Tsk, tsk, Mustang," she began, wagging her finger at him, "Didn't anyone ever tell you about the tradition of mistletoe?"

The look on his face was not one she expected, his face was no longer pale, nor was he flushed with embarrassment. "I am well aware of the tradition of mistletoe, but I can no longer partake in that tradition, unless you wish for an engaged man to dishonor his commitment."

Olivier nearly lost her composure at his reply. Engaged? She'd never heard of him being engaged. Her eyes darted around the group. From their reactions this news wasn't a surprise to them. "And the bride-to-be?" she inquired with a raised brow.

"I wouldn't want to spoil your party by taking the stage with my news. You'll find out soon enough," he answered with a smirk.

"How kind of you," Olivier growled. As she turned to take her leave from the group, she spotted a silver chain around the sniper's neck, a silver chain that held a ring.

She didn't know where she was headed, as long as it was well away from Mustang, and mistletoe.

"It seems the crowd always makes way for you," a voice at her side observed.

She coolly looked to her right to find Miles matching her stride.

"They've got the right idea," she announced.

"Sister, there you are!" boomed a voice from the crowd.

She rolled her eyes, and kept walking, but he caught up to her anyways.

"This is the best turnout we've had in years," he informed her when she finally stopped.

When she didn't respond, he gave her a quizzical glance, and then a look came over him that she didn't like. "I forgot that you don't like mistletoe!"

She groaned as her sisters and mother walked into the room in time to hear Alex's little trip down memory lane.

"You aren't still holding a grudge against that Mustang boy, are you, dear?" her mother asked.

"No."

"It's not like he cornered you, it was just a coincidence, and you can't escape a tradition like that. It was so long ago, I'd nearly forgotten it," her mother explained.

"Don't we have a picture of that?" Catherine chimed in.

"Not anymore," Olivier snapped as she pushed her way through the group, and found a way outside.

The cool winter winds were welcome against her skin as she walked through the twisting paths of the garden.

She hadn't expected to find anyone in the maze of gardenia hedges, but she hoped the dark at least masked the flush of embarrassment that rose to her cheeks at being caught unaware by Buccaneer's gruff voice as he spoke from the shadows. "I bet a couple of the guys back at the fort wouldn't believe you know how to wear a dress, or those shoes for that matter," he commented as he took in her attire for the evening.

She threw her head back and chuckled. "I doubt they'd believe I even know what a dress is."

* * *

Only the soft hum of music from the party accompanied their footsteps, as she led the way to a stone bench a few turns away.

"Had to get away?" he inquired, breaking the silence as they sat down.

"No, there's no one of interest inside," she corrected his assumption—an Armstrong never ran away, unless they happened to be named Alex.

"Your father said something along those lines when he was out here," Buccaneer told her.

Olivier's eyebrows rose at the information. "He'd never say that when Mother and my sisters are here," she argued.

"No, not the same thing, just that he already knew all the interesting people inside," he explained.

"That sounds more like something he's say. Have you been hiding out here for long?" she asked.

"Only since FullMetal and his mechanic arrived. That girl wanted to get a closer look at my 'normal' automail, and she wasn't satisfied with just having my jacket off," he confessed.

Olivier laughed again. "Most men would be glad to have a young woman asking them to undress," she commented, wiggling her eyebrows up and down at him.

"You know me better than that," he replied.

Before she could stop it, her body responded to the sharpness in his voice with a shiver.

This time, it was his turn to laugh at her while he shrugged off his jacket.

She was going to argue against him leaning closer to drape the jacket over her bare shoulders, but decided against exposing the fact that her shiver hadn't been caused by the cool night air.

Just as he was pulling away, she heard someone—no, two someones, an infuriating upstart and his right hand woman—rounding the hedge.

Mustang took in the sour look on Olivier's face, noticed Buccaneer moving away from her, and took note of the branch above them, bare all but for a sprig of green and white. A wry smile made its way onto his face. "It seems someone managed to catch you under the mistletoe," he observed.

Olivier refused to look up, but once again, her fingers twitched for the sword that regularly when have been at her hip. She wanted to sink the steel into his flesh. To make up for her lack of weaponry, she did the second best thing—threw him off balance.

"He didn't have to catch me," she growled, and to make her point clear, she tugged Buccaneer to her by the red and green striped tie he wore.

"C'mon, Roy," she heard Riza order just as her lips met Buccaneer's.

When she heard their footsteps fade away, she used the hand still wrapped around his tie to push him away.

Without a moment's hesitation she stood and cleared her throat to snap Buccaneer out of his daze. "I'm heading back inside."

She was stopped short of her first step away as his metal fingers closed around her wrist.

"I'm going back inside, she reiterated, glaring over her shoulder at him.

Her glare almost faltered at the predatory gleam in his eyes. It wasn't quite the look he got when taking on a mission he liked, there was something different about it.

However, her eyes did widen for a moment when he slowly shook his head, and then tugged her back to the bench.

"You can't just walk away after doing that," he whispered, beginning to lean closer to her.

"It's tradition," she reminded him, her voice breathy from her attempt to stop it from cracking as she looked up at him.

"I've heard that," he said, and for a brief moment, she felt his breath on her lips.

In the back of her head, she realized that he'd released her wrist, and moved his hand to the small of her back as he closed the two-inch gap between their lips.

**'-.-'-.-'**

A.N.- A day late, but the week was very hectic for me. Merry Christams, Happy Holidays, and Happy New Year!


End file.
